


Edge of Something New

by SpiralsInTime



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Communication, Confused Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt has a sexuality crisis, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Talks About Feelings, Idiots in Love, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, No Touch Top, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sensory Overload, Sex Talk, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsInTime/pseuds/SpiralsInTime
Summary: Geralt has never enjoyed sex. His heightened senses making touch too much at times, sending him into anger or panic, though he never understood why. That is until Jaskier pushed him against their room's door, grinding against him, accidentally causing him sensory overload, which leads to Jaskier introducing the Witcher to asexuality and the concept of no-touch-tops.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 351





	Edge of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I just want to mention that I'm writing this as an asexual who has no desire for anything sexual (including kissing), so I apologize if the sexual tension feels a bit "off," it's simply because all my education on smut is through fics. Secondly, I am on the autism spectrum, so I personally deal with sensory overload all the time, though, in this, I didn't go too far in-depth because I wanted to focus on Geralt learning terminology and asexuality. 
> 
> Anyway, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy it! Please leave me comments with any feedback, I'd love to hear yall's opinions.

Jaskier pushed him against the closed door the second they crossed the threshold, muttering a quick, “ _ fuck it _ ,” before colliding their lips together in complete determination. His entire body felt like coming off a potion-high, all his senses grounding, leveling out. The bard’s hands never stopped moving, roaming over his body eagerly, bunching up his loose shirt before exploring elsewhere. Jaskier bit down on his lip, hard enough for the Witcher to respond to the pressure, allowing the bard to slip his tongue between parted lips, groaning pleasurably. 

Sliding his hands through the troubadour’s hair, disheveled from dancing around tables in the tavern, flirting with his entire body while singing bawdy songs, he pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. His mind flooded with Jaskier; his warmth radiating off of him in waves; his fingers dancing against the Witcher’s broad chest just as smoothly as he would while performing; soft groans being pulled from his throat each time Geralt pulled at the bard’s hair, edging him closer; the hammering of his heart, ever so fast, so utterly  _ human.  _ It was nearly overwhelming, all of his senses being intoxicated by Jaskier.

The bard pulled off, chest heaving with deep breaths, pupils, blown wide with the bright edges of blue, reminding him of mountain-snow melting, pooling together after winter. Jaskier’s hands held around his waist tightly, as if he were afraid the Witcher would run away, fading off in the Path. 

Though the smile was infectious, a growing dandelion sprouting bright petals, broadcasting emotions so easily it felt like it illuminated the room. Geralt couldn’t help the desire to smile back, hoping the slight lift of the corners of his lips was enough. 

“Wow,” Jaskier breathed out, close enough the warmth of his voice spread out across the Witcher’s face, the smell of the mint he chewed on occasionally nearly overpowering. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Geralt tilted his head ever so slightly, a few strands of silver fell across his eyes, a silent question. 

“Really? I’m surprised you didn’t notice—actually, scratch that, no, you’re the most oblivious person I know when it comes to emotions—though I didn’t necessarily hide my affections…” Jaskier got lost in thought, eyes glossed over, looking to the side above Geralt’s shoulder. It was one of Geralt’s favorite looks on him. 

The Witcher let the bard drift off in thought, admiring the minute facial changes passing through his face. It was fascinating, like analyzing a new creature, learning their behaviors and body language; Geralt couldn’t get enough. He was always taken aback by how expressive Jaskier was in every way; the movement of his hands, animatedly dancing around him in the air while retelling a story, or the fidgeting of his fingers when anxious; the crinkles swarming around his eyes while laughing so hard he snorts, or the gentleness found in his eyes when he catches Geralt smiling.

“Sorry, got lost in thought,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed. His hands moved up Geralt’s sides, hitching up the shirt before slipping them under it, feeling the raised skin of scars. Geralt hummed, content. 

He wanted to try. For Jaskier, knowing the man thrives on communication and emotions—quite literally being his entire trade. “What, mhm...what were you thinking about?” The question sounded awkward even to him, but if the bard noticed he didn’t show it. Instead, his smile grew fond, his head tilting with his clear happiness.

“You,” he removed his hands from Geralt’s body, a flicker of nerves galloping over his facial features when he stepped back, letting the Witcher’s hands fall to his sides. “I...well, I was thinking about you—us—but then I thought, what does this mean—the kiss, specifically—what does it change? Do you even want us to change? I just-”

“Jaskier,” he chuckled deeply, though sobered up quickly by the seriousness surrounding the bard. He sighed, searching for words not revolving around monsters and potions. He stepped forward off the door, his lips tingling from the absence of Jaskier’s. “I, mhm...you,”

Jaskier chuckled softly, wiping his eyes flooded with emotion, looking ever so hopeful and expecting. “What about me?”

“I want…mhm,” 

“Come on, I know you can say it, my emotionally-constipated Witcher,” he teased lightheartedly. Geralt appreciated the effort to keep things from sounding too much—too serious, too emotional.

“You. I want you.” He whispered, eyes looking at the wooden floor. Licking his lips, thinking about the taste of mint that lingered there and the smell of chamomile, sandalwood, and ink—the smell of Jaskier—wrapped around him.

“Then  _ have _ me, Witcher,” Jaskier stalked forward with predator movements, eyes blown wide. “In every means of the word,” he was close enough his breath washed over him, leaving the gap for a chance for Geralt to change his mind.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” the Witcher practically groaned out, hands finding themselves within the bard’s hair, pulling him forward to kiss him, matching the first kiss’ determination and utter need. Jaskier grinded his hips forward, desperately searching for friction. Geralt felt how hard he was, quickly tethering him back into reality. His body cringed, tensing up, painfully alert.

“I can’t,” he pulled off, moving past the bard, standing awkwardly by the bed. Numerous emotions flickered across Jaskier’s face before confusion overpowered them all. The obvious tent in his pants ignored as he took deep breaths, dark eyebrows furrowed in question. 

“I-what do you mean?” Jaskier’s voice edged in disappointment. “Why can’t you have me? Do you-” the bard paused, settling himself before continuing, forcing on a neutral look. “Do you not want me, like-like that?” He gestured broadly to his entire body. 

Grunting in irritation, Geralt let his body drop to the floor with a thud, leaning his back against the creaking bed frame. “No, mhm,” he closed his eyes, searching for the words, but the hummingbird-heartbeat fluttered loudly in his head, ticking off his sensories. “ _ Damnit _ , Jaskier, be quiet,” he gritted out, snapping his burning eyes up, immediately regretting raising his voice from the pure hurt on Jaskier’s face. He stepped back instinctively, like he was  _ afraid.  _

“Shit,  _ fuck _ , Jask-“

“I wasn’t even _ speaking _ ,” Jaskier flared out his arms, gesturing angrily, clearly about to continue, looking when he does before he goes into a long rant. 

Geralt cut him off, “Your heartbeat,” The bard’s angry simmered, flashing back to confusion. The switching of emotions overwhelmed him. “It’s fast; too loud,” Geralt breathed out, guilt flooding his body. Tightly closing his eyes, he listened to Jaskier slowly walking towards him before plopping down beside him, leaving space between them. Jaskier took deep calming breaths, slowing down his heartbeat to a regular pace for a human.

“Geralt—”

“I don’t like sex,” he blurted out, slightly flinching, holding his breath, hating the odd-feeling of nerves. He’s a Witcher for God's-sake. He shouldn’t be...afraid. 

_ Shit, I’m afraid. Fuck, fuck, shit- _

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice was soft, nearly pleading. “Do you think you could look at me?” Geralt just shook his head slightly, eyes painfully closed, jaw aching from the pressure put on it. He was readying himself for Jaskier to storm out, anger trailing behind him from being teased, led-on; like other partners the Witcher took.

“Okay. You know many people don’t like sex either, right?” Geralt let out a harsh breath through his nose, huffing in irritation and disbelief. “That wasn’t a joke or a jab, darling,”

_ Darling?  _

Geralt couldn’t help opening his eyes, taking in the view of Jaskier stretched out, heading falling back against the bed, tilted so he could make eye contact with the Witcher.

Jaskier looked at him in thought, sighing softly. “I know you’ve lived for, like, thousands of years,” he teased, throwing him a smug look.

“I’m not  _ that  _ old,” Geralt huffed out in response, falling back into their usual teasing; a comfort.

“Old enough that you’re a dilf,”

“ _ A what? _ ” 

Jaskier tipped his head further back, eyes crinkling up as he barked out a hearty laugh. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Geralt couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I’ll explain later,” he chuckled out, sobering up before looking back at Geralt with fondness in the clear skies between dark lashes. 

“I know you’ve lived a long life, probably thinking you know most—which, of course, I’m not doubting your intelligence—however, you spent all those years outside of human society.” He paused, letting the words sink in as he watched the Witcher look thoughtfully at the flooring.

“What I’m saying is, is that you haven’t experienced much of humanity, the part that’s not...well, shitty—which, I will say, is quite a small portion. And, well, I’m a bard; my trade, entire livelihood, is dependent on knowing and understanding other humans; I’ve met hundreds of different people across the continent, learning about their lives. Point being: yes, you’ve lived longer, but I’ve lived longer with humans.” 

Geralt nodded gently, still staring unfocused at the cracks in the wood below them, but listening intently. He saw Jaskier nodding to others, showing them he was listening; he copied that behavior, hoping he didn’t fuck it up.

“I’ve met a multitude of people who don’t enjoy sex; some even not interested in the slightest; sex simply being a waste of time to them as they have other priorities, while others don’t particularly like being touched, but enjoy pleasuring their partner—a no-touch-top,”

Geralt perked up, eyes practically glowing with curiosity. “No-touch-top?” His voice came out small, unsure. The feeling of fear seeping out like water in a bucket with a small hole the longer Jaskier spoke to him. Jaskier smiled broadly, turning to fully face him, legs crossed, hands already gesturing wildly. He liked when Jaskier was like this.

“I’ve been—for the lack of a better word—involved, with a few people who are no-touch-tops. Interesting experiences, really, quite enjoyable. Anyway, it’s different for each person. Some are okay with being touched in certain ways, such as having nails scrape down their back while bringing their partner off, but do not want their anatomy touched. Basically, getting off by pleasuring someone else.”

Geralt felt warmth flooding his gut, making him want to squirm. The last statement brought a feeling of adrenaline rush through him. “That-that sounds good,” His voice coming out husky, more gravely than normal. Jaskier chuckled, but he couldn’t see any trace of judgment from the poet.

“Some people consider kissing a sexual act…” the bard trailed off shyly, worried he overstepped earlier, even  _ though  _ Geralt kissed back, he needed to be certain.

“No,” Geralt stated before considering he may need more words to explain. “Mhm, I don’t. Just...don’t like my cock being touched...mutagens heightened my senses, it’s  _ too  _ much.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, tapping his finger against his chin, because  _ of course he would.  _ “Like, when my heartbeat sped up while you were trying to focus?”

“Yes,” he gritted out, pulling his bulky legs against his chest, allowing himself that vulnerability in front of Jaskier. He knows he never would abuse that trust. He felt...safe.

“When I grinded against you?” Geralt nodded, letting his hair fall; a shield of silver. 

“Okay, I won’t do that again. So, I ask again,” Jaskier gently and slowly tucked the strands of hair behind his ear, catching the golden gaze with confidence. “Geralt, what do you want?”

“You. But, some sex, I-I’m interested in the no-touch-top thing. I want to pleasure you solely,” Jaskier shifted, biting his lip. Geralt grew more confident with each reaction he pulled from the bard. Turning to face him fully, both in cross-legged positions, he continued with a small smirk. “I want to taste you; licking, marking. Want to learn all of the spots that draw a hungry response from you, want to kiss you while my fingers being knuckle-deep in you,” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but let a whimper out, his cock filling out at the imaging alone. Geralt’s low voice, nearly a growl, sparking his body alight. Geralt knew it too, the bastard.

“Can you come on just my fingers?” He leaned forward, dragging just the fingertips up Jaskier’s calve, feeling the muscles twitch in anticipation, barely the feeling of a ghost running along the inside of the bard’s thigh. Geralt watched his face intently, reading if he’s gone too far. “Maybe even use a few toys,”

“Fuck,” Jaskier moaned, struggling to not palm his aching erection. Geralt pulled back his hand, teasingly, smirking at the whine Jaskier let out. “What else do you want, Witcher?”

“Mm,” he hummed deeply, fighting off his own desires to continue touching the poet buzzing with utter need in front of him. “I don’t expect you to stop sleeping with others,” 

Jaskier did not expect that but masked his surprise with a nod to continue.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be able to pleasure you as much as you want. Sleep with whoever. I just want…” Geralt seemed to lose his words, eyes darting around in search.

Jaskier leaned in, placing his hands outside of the Witcher’s thighs, allowing him time to push him away. Geralt pulled his attention back to the bard, the slightest hint of teeth peering through. It was the most genuine smile Jaskier had ever seen from the grumpy Witcher. He couldn’t help but feel proud that he was the reason behind it.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against Geralt’s lips, kissing him before he could argue. Jaskier felt their energy colliding together, weaving themselves through each point of contact; their chapped lips brushing against one another; Geralt’s hand running through the bard’s hair, one of Jaskier’s resting on the Witcher’s shoulder keeping balance.

Jaskier pulled back, scanning Geralt’s face, noticing the small details that showed his happiness. Geralt tilted his head, biting his lip in thought, before finishing his sentence, a soft plea, a strong showcase of vulnerability. He wants to try for him.

“I just want you to come back to me, always.”


End file.
